


simple angel, perfect devil (can i come inside?)

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Alternate Universe - Western, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Whipping, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU. Dark’s playing a game, and Jack’s determined to win.
Relationships: Darkiplier/Sean McLoughlin, darkiplier/jacksepticeye
Comments: 21
Kudos: 102





	simple angel, perfect devil (can i come inside?)

**Author's Note:**

> HI I'M NOT DEAD 
> 
> So it's currently 5am for me but I was so inspired to finish this that I decided to forgo sleeping and crank it out! This is the culmination of about two days worth of work, and I'm actually kind of proud of it, all things considered! It's been a plot bunny lately and I'm so happy to have finally written out. 
> 
> This story is heavily inspired by a new band I'm into! My boyfriend got me into them and I fell in love with the single. The song is "Head Hunter" by Dance Gavin Dance, and the music video was my primary inspiration with some of the lyrics working well too. I highly recommend watching both to get the best feel!
> 
> This is a bit of a western theme but I think I dropped it somewhere in the middle, but that was the overall tone I was going for lmao.
> 
> Please enjoy! I've so missed writing and it feels so good to have written something again. 
> 
> As mentioned, title and inspiration from "Head Hunter" by Dance Gavin Dance!

They’ve been playing this song and dance for months now.

For Jack, it’s honestly felt like years. He feels every little creek of his bones, feels the dust settling between his ribs--he’s tired. He’s so tired that he’s not one hundred percent sure what he’s meant to do with himself anymore.

Catch him, really. Catch Dark. That’s his only option.

Damien Doom, commonly known as Deadeye Dark amongst the backwater towns and all of the files. Criminal mastermind, overlord of the streets, and the biggest pain in the ass since his first appearance five years ago. 

He’s been active for years longer than five years ago, Jack knows that for a fact, but he hadn’t made a grandiose entrance until then. Dark could have gone the rest of his life unknown, were it not for his incessant need to flaunt his dick wherever he got the chance. He’s a slimy, twisted, and arrogant son of a bitch, and when Jack had gotten into the department, eager to prove himself by tailing him, he’s the only one to show any luck at apprehending him.

There are whispers. Whispers that he’s not genuine, that he’s not true to the job. That he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But Jack will crush those whispers once and for all, no matter the cost. 

He’s been pouring over the files for Dark for many days and nights, and his back is paying for it. The other deputies have been begging him to go home, to get some fucking sleep considering that he feels like he’s been here for days, scarcely eating or sleeping, but goddamn it, Jack isn’t going to stand by and let everyone in this forsaken town believe him to be some know-nothing backstabber who is milking the department dry for a couple of coins.

“Deputy McLoughlin?” comes the voice of Deputy Ethan Nestor, poking his head in. It’s a miracle the kid ever became a deputy, with how skittish he is. But the Sheriff, Jack thinks, uses him as more of a small dispute settler, for whenever people roughhouse at the taverns and saloons and anywhere else, as men do. “It’s late, you should…”

Jack smiles at him, fatigue washing over him for not the first time this evening. “Ethan, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

Ethan smiles back, something worn in his features as well, as though anticipating this answer. “Okay. Just let me know if you need anything?”

“Of course,” Jack replies, tilting his head back down to Dark’s file. The letters have begun to blur together at this point, witness accounts scrawled in imperfect English and shoddy reports from towns over. Nothing speaks to him as particularly reliable, but God, he needs something, anything that can even marginally point him in the right direction.

Dark’s toying with him, he knows it. There’s no doubt about it. 

He’d been able to get close to him, a few months ago. During a shootout in High Springs, three divisions over, Jack and some members of the force had been able to get the jump on Dark and his crew. They had scheduled a bank heist, someone had tipped them off, and Jack had taken the leap of faith to go out and try and apprehend him. Close, but no cigar. After killing two of their officers, Jack had caught a glimpse of Dark’s smiling eyes as they’d retreated into a dust of smoke. They’d been successful in stalling the bank heist, but nothing as far as bringing them to an end completely. 

So close. He’d been so close, and the fact that Dark hadn’t even looked surprised, only smiled...Jack is being led into a trap but he can’t stay away.

Not until this is over. 

“...and by the way,” Ethan’s voice pulls him back, though it appears he’s been talking for a few minutes now, “A friend of yours said to give this letter to you. Said he hasn’t heard from you in a while.” 

Jack’s eyes snap up. “What?”

“Yeah,” Ethan murmurs, stepping into his office. In his hand is a cream envelope, no return label on it with a single word written on it. _Deputy_. The script is distinct.

He feels a stone in his throat. “Who gave this to you?”

Ethan offers him a shrug. “A friend of yours?”

“I don’t have any friends in this town.”

“Oh,” the other stares down at the envelope in his hands. “It just...seems like you did, is all. He seemed pretty adamant that it gets to you. Really? None?”

“None that would send a letter,” Jack replies, reaching a hand out. “Here, give me that.”

Ethan hesitates. “I can get it to Sheriff Kjellberg, if you want? It could be a threat. You know, people talk these days. I’m sure you’ve heard…”

“I’ve heard plenty,” Jack murmurs back. “Let me see it, Ethan.”

After a moment of intense contemplation, Ethan looking between the parchment and him, he finally sighs, handing it over. “Wonder what Clover means.”

“I’m an immigrant,” he shakes his head, staring at the six letters with rapture. “It’s probably an insult.”

“Awfully nice insult,” Ethan quips. “What does it say?” 

Jack glances at the window behind him, the sun barely setting below the horizon, drifting into its nightly rest, as he should be. He licks his lips, running his fingers across the creases. Nothing feels good, now. 

“I’ll read it myself, if that’s okay,” Jack decides, giving him a nod. “Just in case. Thanks, Ethan. You can go now.”

The deputy looks unwilling to move. “Should I tell the Sheriff? I--”

“Please don’t,” Jack says, much too quickly. “He’s got enough on his plate and...the less he knows, the better. It keeps me safe, keeps you safe, keeps...everything good.”

Hazel eyes scour his face, and Jack knows Ethan’s looking for anything, any indication he’s lying, any hint of something he should distrust. 

Nothing. Ethan can find nothing, and finally breathes out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he offers weakly, and when Jack nods, he laughs a bit. “Right. Just...be careful, Jack.”

“Always,” Jack whispers, not nearly as strong as he wishes he were, holding this letter in his hand.

When the door closes behind Ethan, Jack takes a moment to watch the six letters tremble in his hands as he opens the envelope. 

_Shade Tooth, sunset._

_You have a choice, Deputy._

_Make it a good one._

Jack folds the note, feeling the warmth rise to his face, his teeth gnashing together in an unconscious attempt to control himself. 

Dark’s playing a game, and Jack’s determined to win. 

Grabbing his coat from the back of his chair, he rips open his desk drawer, grabbing his revolver and shoving bullets into the chamber. His hands shake with anticipation, counting the bullets. One, two, three, four, five, six. 

He has six chances to put a bullet in Dark’s skull.

Jack hopes to God he won’t need seven. 

Holstering the gun, Jack makes his way out of the office, forgoing his hat due to the darkness, slamming the door behind him. After Ethan’s departure, no one else should be in the building. It’s not like anyone would care anyway. This building creaks like no tomorrow, and Jack has a habit of throwing a fit when Dark slips away from him. It’s par for the course, him slamming doors.

The dusty sky bleeds into a deep murmur, and Jack feels the cotton in his lungs as he heads to the most desolate and uncompromising part of town. They bust up a lot of would-be criminals in that area. Recently, the town has been trying to renovate it into something a bit more substantial, something about a bathhouse or whatnot, or one of those fancy theatres that places in the east seem to be having. 

It’s not gone through, yet. No one has decided to pay the amount of money it would cost, so as of present time, it’s still the shitty, rundown place it’s always been. 

The journey on foot doesn’t take long, and as the sun completely disappears from sight, he arrives at his destination.

Looming and ugly as ever, Jack inhales deeply, hoping that his lateness hasn’t influenced Dark’s arrival. There is always the chance that this isn’t Dark, merely a grunt or some up and coming mongrel, but he can’t swallow down the feeling it has to be more. An unsigned letter, one choice, taunting, mocking. A meeting place. Who else could it be but Dark? Who else could it be but Deadeye Dark?

He unholsters his revolver, cocking back the hammer before gingerly pushing the door open. It squeaks on its hinges, indicative of the fact that people rarely come here, let alone maintain the place. When no sounds come, Jack steps inside. 

Empty. Jack scans the room, trying to feel the air out. He’s always had a good way of telling whether or not there are other people around him, something about the presence palpable on his tongue.

It’s what makes him such a good deputy, at times. 

He steps further into the room, still sensing nothing. Had this whole thing been a ruse? Had he come too late? Was this a huge waste of time, after all? A mere letter meant to intimidate him?

Just as he opens his mouth to announce himself, he hears it. Jack pinpoints the slightest scuff of movement, firing his gun up into the rafters. It resonates loud and powerful in the small building, and Jack cocks the barrel again, ready to fire once more when another click resonates behind him. 

“Easy, Jack,” comes Dark’s rich voice, as sultry and mocking as he remembers. “Do you greet friends in this crass manner?” 

“Of course not,” Jack quips, feeling the cold steel of a gun at the back of his skull. Typical. Dark wouldn’t make a simple mistake of moving, even the barest hint. There’s a reason he’s so good at what he does. “But you’re no friend.”

“Pity, that,” Dark murmurs back. He presses the barrel a little harder against his head. “Drop it.”

Jack swallows. “What are you going to do, kill me?”

“I will consider it,” is the short, annoyed reply. He can still sense a smile on those lips, though, “if you don’t obey me.” 

He can get the gun back, Jack thinks. If he drops it now, he can get it back. He’s faster than Dark, he always has been. He’s got it. He can do this. Self-preservation first, above anything. He’s no use to anyone dead. 

With great difficulty, he lets the gun slip through his fingers, clattering to the ground with a _thud_. 

“Good boy,” Dark purrs, and it takes every ounce of strength inside of him to not turn on him, sock him in the jaw if he’s able to. It won’t end well if he does, not at this position. “I just want to talk.”

“With a gun to my head?” 

“Perhaps I wouldn’t need it if you weren’t so volatile.”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t be so volatile if you weren’t an absolute piece of shite,” Jack snips back.

“Testy as I remember,” a hum, completely unfazed by the insult. “What are you doing, Jack? Are you having fun playing deputy? Running around, throwing people away because society tells you it’s appropriate?” 

Jack grinds his teeth together. “It’s not a game, Damien. It’s a job. And it’s what’s best for everyone--”

“Damien, now?” Dark interrupts, colder than a few moments ago. “Damien. We’ve relegated to calling me Damien? Is that how you fall asleep at night?”

“It’s your name,” Jack spits back. “You know that.”

“You and I both know,” Dark murmurs, the amusement in that tone fading to acid, “that I have not adhered to that name in over a decade. If you want to live through this exchange, you’ll not disrespect me. Is that clear?”

Jack says nothing. The barrel pushes against his head.

“I expect an answer, Jack.”

“And if I don’t give one?” 

Surprising him, the barrel comes away from his head. Jack lets out the slightest breath, the immediate fear receding into a fainter one. 

“You think you’ve got it all now, don’t you?” Dark asks, lazy, as though not particularly concerned with the answer. “You think you’ve got your life figured out because you’re who you are. Deputy McLoughlin. You surely know what they call you? Wrypeak’s Angel. You think you’re a messenger of God, delivering justice to the disgusting. But they don’t know your secret, do they?”

Jack clenches his fists. “I’m here to save this town from the people who seek to wrought harm upon it.”

“You’re trying desperately to purge yourself of the sins carved into your bones,” Dark spits out. “They call you Wrypeak’s Angel. But do you remember what I called you, Jack? What they called you, before?”

“Don’t,” Jack whispers back, feeling the tremble in his hands. “Don’t say shit, Dark. It’s not your place.”

“Not my place?” Dark challenges, and finally, God, finally, Jack turns to look at him. He’s as pristine and perfect as ever, all hard lines and tired eyes, perfect posture and hair as black as night. Like nothing’s ever changed. Like it’s the past all over again. “Not my place, Jack? Not my place to remember you as you were, as you should be? You think you’re a savior, but I know different. Before you were the _Angel_ , you went by another name. Shall I remind you?”

“Shut your mouth,” Jack fires back. “That was never me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Green Devil,” Dark murmurs, and he smiles, harsh in the quickly arriving moonlight. “That was what they called you. Before you wrapped yourself in pretty lies, before you put on a pretty little mask and assumed the role of someone else. Don’t you remember?”

His lungs feel as though they’re filled with fluid. He’s drowning, but there’s no water in sight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dark’s lips twist into a sneer. “That egregious mouth of yours still serves you well. Do you forget that you can’t lie to me, Jack? Try as you might, I see through your little facade. It’s pathetic.”

“I’m the pathetic one?” Jack argues, trying in vain to swallow down the anxiety boiling in his throat. “What do you want, Dark? What was the point of calling me here? Did you come to gloat? Did you come to kill me? Pick one and do it. Stop playing games.”

“I’m nothing but games for you, darling,” something in Jack’s skin writhes at the name. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Dark. “There was a time when you enjoyed my games. There was a time when you enraptured yourself with them. When you did whatever it took to please me.”

He holds the gun back up, aiming it towards his chest. Dark has never been so sloppy as to hit him on accident, so Jack doesn’t feel as worried as he should. “Give up, Jack. Give up the ghost. You’ve had your fun playing. It’s time to return to where you belong.”

“And that is?” he rasps out, finding his confidence quickly waning.

“By my side,” Dark reiterates, tilting his head at him. “You belong next to me, Jack. You think hunting me will change anything? You think you can really kill me? You think for a single moment that you could end what burns in your being?” 

Jack closes his eyes, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his eyes and chest. “I’m not your thing, Dark. It’s over. Whoever you think I am...I’m not. It’s me or you, and I intend for it to be me.”

There’s a small, vicious laugh. “Not my thing? There’s a pretty little brand above your right hip. One that you’ve never let anyone see, because then everyone would know your Deadeye Dark’s whore. You’ve never let a single soul lay eyes on it, because they would know what you’ve done. That you set fire to the city of Drybank on my orders. That you swindled thousands of dollars from Governor Jones with a smile on your lips. That you have more blood on your hands than any man in these lands, even more than myself.”

Without thinking, Jack goes to the spot on his hip. It’s healed, it’s certainly healed over the years. It’s nothing more than an ugly reminder of a former life. In a few years, it’ll be an ugly scar and he can pass it off as something else, anything else but this. 

“I admire you, darling,” Dark croons at him. “I really do. You’ve played an immaculate game of cat and mouse. But the predator always wins. Come back to me. I’ve missed you.”

The last three words hit him harder than they should. There’s something still reactive in his body, craving that praise and want. He can’t escape that Dark had offered him something precious so long ago. A sense of satisfaction and affection he’d desperately needed. When things had gone south, Dark had always stood there, been there, taken care of him. 

But…

“I can’t,” Jack whispers, so soft he’s not entirely certain Dark hears him. Stronger, he continues, “I can’t, Dark. I can’t do it. This is my life now. And in order to move on, I...I have to kill you. You’re...you’re the last piece. The last thing preventing me from starting over. I...I’m sorry.”

Dark’s face is expressionless. Without breaking, he tosses the gun towards him. Jack catches it on reflex.

“If that’s how you truly feel,” Dark says, “then prove it. Kill me.” 

He feels stones in his stomach. Nonetheless, he clicks back the hammer of the gun. “Just like that?”

“I will not stop you,” and Jack, for a moment, can hear something like kindness in that tone. It’s not real, it can’t be with Dark, but he can fade into it for a brief moment. “If you can pull that trigger right this second, and kill me, I will not stop you from doing so. If you kill me now, it ends here.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you return to me,” Dark’s smile returns, eyes glinting in the moonlight. 

Jack takes aim. “You’re not frightened.”

“You won’t do it,” Dark confirms airily. 

He hovers his finger over the trigger. “Are you sure?”

Dark puts his hands behind his back. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Jack.”

And it should be easy. Jack knows it should be effortless to pull the trigger and be done. He wants to. He’s been working himself up for months, anticipating this moment. It should be easy. But something about being handed this victory, it stings him. He hesitates. Why does he hesitate? 

“Go ahead, Jack,” Dark’s saccharine voice goads him. “Shoot.”

Five, four, three, two…

“I’m sorry, Dark,” Jack whispers out. 

One.

The bullet lets loose, a resounding boom echoing in the immediate space around him. The gun slips from his hand, and he raises that hand to his mouth, muffling whatever sound wishes to escape him. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--”

And then,

“You’ve never missed.”

Jack looks up. On the side of the wall, there’s a miniscule hole, but Dark remains wonderfully intact, looking as smug as any one human could ever be.

“I think I’ve proven my point quite nicely,” Dark declares. “Come along then, Jack.”

His skin boils, and Jack feels a surge of anger wash over his entire form. He wants nothing more than to beat that stupid, smiling face into the dirt, and it takes every ounce of his patience to hiss out, “I’d rather die.”

The smile falls from Dark’s face. “You disappoint me, Jack.” 

He’s ready to ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but Dark cranes his neck around the building before snapping his fingers. The sound resonates almost as frighteningly as the bullet. 

Two sets of arms grab him. Jack yelps, yanking on them immediately. “Hey, let go! Dark!” 

“Strip his coat off,” Dark orders, and Jack watches as he reaches to his belt, unfastening something from his waist. Something in his heart surges at the sight of a whip. “Put him on his knees, facing away. Don’t let go of him or I’ll have your heads.”

“Dark, what the _fuck_ ,” Jack spits out as two sets of strong arms rip his coat from his shoulders. He hears the fibers tearing as it flutters to the ground. They muscle him to the ground, and he struggles against them, but he’s unable to stand up. 

“You,” he hears the crack of the whip in the air, “need to be reminded of who you are. I didn’t want to have to resort to this, but you’ve left me no choice.” 

Dark’s presence looms over him. “ _You_ belong to _me_ , Jack. Say it.” 

“Over my dead body,” he hisses. 

The whip against his back comes without warning. Jack hollers, startled by the intensity and the pain. 

“Try again,” Dark rumbles.

“Go to hell,” Jack rasps back.

It comes again, just as painful, just as brutal. He fights back the tears that want to form. Biting down on his cheek, he tries to choke down the scream. 

“You belong to me.”

“I don’t belong to _anyone_.”

One, two, three. The whip comes crashing against his skin three times, and he can’t hold back the wail that leaves him. Warmth begins to spread across his back, and he knows that the blood has begun to drizzle. 

“Stubborn.” Another lash. 

“Disobedient.” Another.

“Brat.” One, two, three. 

Every part of his brain has stopped trying to struggle, to retort. It’s only focusing on dulling the stinging, burning sensation littering his skin, but to no avail. Tears stream down his cheeks, his chest heaving with the intensity of it all, and Jack wishes to God that he hadn’t missed that shot. 

“You think you’re clever,” Dark snarls at him. “But you’re _mine_. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine. No one else can have you. Don’t you _ever_ forget that. Say it.”

“I belong to _me_ ,” Jack breathes out, using the last of his strength to tilt his head up in his last bit of defiance. “You can’t have me. Not anymore.”

“Insolent,” Dark sneers. Another lash comes down on him. 

He loses track of how many times Dark strikes him. He doesn’t ask anymore questions, or say anything else after the last. Jack’s vision drifts in and out of black with every strike, and he wonders if this is how Dark will kill him. On his knees, just like this. 

When he’s just on the edge of collapsing into the nothing, there comes a pause. The hands release him, and unable to muster the strength, Jack falls face down onto the ground. He curls his hands into fists, the stinging sensation ever present against him. 

“This doesn’t end here,” Dark warns him. “The next we meet, Jack, I’ll ask you again. If you deny me, your punishment will be twofold. Then three. Then four. Until you submit. Do you understand?” 

Jack struggles to breathe, vainly trying to get his heart rate to go down. He attempts to push himself up on his hands, but Dark’s foot weighs heavy on his back, shoving him back into the ground with another blistering agony of pain. He wails in pain, startling himself with how loud he is. Of all the pains he’s had in his life, from being shot to the brand to even being hit with a carriage, this is by far the worst.

“I hope, Jack,” his voice grows soft again, “that next we meet, you’ll have come to your senses. It pains me to do this to you, my Clover. You belong in my bed, rather than here.”

He hears the door creak open. “I hope to make you scream in more pleasurable ways than this, darling. Don’t disappoint me again.”

The sound of footsteps departing haunts him until the barest hint of the sun filters into the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me at planetpossum.tumblr.com! I always love hearing from everyone.


End file.
